by N M Thorn
A bunch of construction materials covered by a large, blue tarp were piled up on the left side of the driveway. A layer of sand and dust lying over the tarp suggested that the construction had stopped a while ago, and no one had bothered to continue with the work. All in all, the house gave out a strange vibe of despondency and abandonment.
Sam pressed the button of a doorbell next to the main entrance but then pushed the door open without waiting for the owners of the house to let him in. Noticing Damian’s hesitation, he waved for him to follow and walked in.
Feeling the touch of the cool air to his skin, Damian halted in the middle of a spacious foyer, looking around with curiosity. From the lobby, two hallways ran in separate directions. The hallway on the left was blocked by plywood, and Damian assumed it was the part of the house under construction.
The interior of the house mirrored the overall style of the exterior. The ten-foot ceiling was supported by beautifully crafted stained-wood beams, and the doors—natural solid oak—stood out against the traditional mud adobe-style walls. The floor was made of polished concrete. However, a thin layer of dust covered it, and it lost its former shine.
A large mirror in an antique frame hung on the opposite wall, surrounded by a few wall candle sconces. The candles were untouched, and it was obvious they were nothing but a part of the overall décor. Damian observed the mirror with interest. Its surface appeared to be tarnished a little, and he wondered if it was one of those old silver pieces.
A small foyer table with an opened newspaper and a set of keys on top was positioned under the mirror. One of the pages unfolded, and Damian could clearly see the title of an article printed in large, bold letters: “An eccentric serial entrepreneur, investor and philanthropist, Cole Adams is still missing.”
“River!” shouted Sam, turning toward the right hallway. His voice bounced against the ceiling, echoing loudly through the building. “I hate this house with its weird echoes and sound effects. River Rose! Don’t make me come and get you, girl!”
The loud clinking of heels sounded in the hallway on the right, and a young woman in her late twenties or early thirties emerged from the shadows, halting in front of them. A large, furry feline followed her every step, its round, green eyes shining brightly against the darkness of its fur.
River was relatively tall for a woman, and her pantsuit couldn’t hide the athletic build of her body. A fair-skinned ginger with light-blue eyes, she could have been called beautiful, if not for the bitter set of her full lips, and the dark shadows surrounding her eyes and underlying her high cheekbones. A slight bulge of the jacket over her hip suggested she was packing, and a police detective’s badge on her belt explained the presence of firearms.
“Dad, I’m so glad you’re back,” she said, her melodious voice sounding a little raspy as if she’d been crying for a while. She hugged Sam, kissing him on the cheek, and as she pulled away, her gaze stopped on Damian.
“This is Damian Blake,” introduced Sam, waving in Damian’s direction. “He’ll be helping me with the construction and in the shop.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Damian extended his hand, and she stepped forward, taking it.
Her cold fingers wrapped tightly around his hand, squeezing it a little stronger than he expected. The cat followed her every move. It circled his legs a few times, sniffing and rubbing against his jeans. Once satisfied, it halted by his side, and he could swear the feline was appraising him.
“River Evans,” the woman introduced herself, her attentive eyes drilling through him as if she were trying to read his soul. “So, where did you serve and how long ago, Mr. Blake?”
“Well, helloooo ther-r-r-eeeee,” purred the feline, tilting its head, its large ears with long, furry brushes perking up. “Just look at this specimen! Mmm mmm mmm.” The cat rolled its green eyes and lay down at his feet, sounding almost as if it were snickering. “Hopeless underachiever-r-r.”
Damian grunted, and for a moment, his attention switched from River to her cat. As a Child of Earth, he had always known he could hear the voices of animals and even communicate with them, but usually their voices sounded like a soft whisper in the back of his mind, unobtrusive and easy to block. Never had he heard such a loud and clear voice.
That’s going to be... um... uncomfortable, a thought flashed through his mind as he switched his attention back to River.
“I never said I served, ma’am,” started Damian, but she wagged her finger at him, a tired smirk ghosting her lips.
“I’m a detective, Mr. Blake. So, where and when? Easy questions,” she repeated calmly with a half-shrug, the vibe of authority unmistakable in her voice.
Damian thought for a moment, wondering how to answer these so-called easy questions, but then he made a split-second decision to stick to the truth as much as he could.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I did serve under a special law enforcement agency, the name and location of which I cannot disclose. Sorry, ma’am, but this information is classified.”
“Special law enforcement agency my ass,” murmured the cat, stretching its paw, its claws exposed. “Fr-r-eak of nature.”
Goddammit, all I need—a smart-ass cat. Damian sighed, focusing on blocking the voice of the animal.
“So, Dad,” said River, turning to Sam. “You managed to hire some secret agent to work as a handyman?” She chuckled mirthlessly, shaking her head.
“You should see him with flowers,” retorted Sam snidely.
River opened her mouth to reply, but the loud shrill of the doorbell interrupted her. She snapped her mouth shut and moved toward the entrance. The door opened before she reached it, and a tall man dressed in a perfectly fitted business suit walked inside. His brown eyes halted on River, and for a moment, they lit up with affection, but as his gaze darted to Sam, the light got extinguished and was replaced by wintry frost.
“Mr. Vetrov,” he said dryly instead of a greeting, and Damian was positive whoever this man was, there was no love lost between Sam and him.
“Jesse,” replied Sam in kind.
As Jesse’s gaze landed on Damian, a shadow of displeasure crossed his otherwise handsome features, but he quickly composed himself and didn’t say anything to him.
“River, we’re going to be late,” he said, his voice unexpectedly deep for his slender build. He placed his arm around her shoulder, ushering her toward the exit, but she took his arm off and walked back to her father.
“Dad, you know where everything is,” she said, waving toward the blocked part of the house. “Do whatever you need to do.”
She squatted and petted the cat, running her hands through its thick, dark fur. Looking up at Damian, she tilted her head, the corner of her lips lifting just a touch.
“It’s amazing,” she muttered mostly to herself, “but Gypsy actually likes you. It never happened before. She hates strangers. Especially men.” She glanced at Jesse and jerked her chin toward him. “Jesse, my partner, has been around forever, and she never comes close to him. Not without hissing and scratching, at least.” She straightened and gave Damian a curt nod. “I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity to talk again.” She thought for a moment and added, “Assuming my father is not going to fire you in an hour.”
She chuckled, the sadness never leaving her light eyes. Then she turned and left the house with Jesse on her heels.
“Don’t wor-r-ry, sweetie,” purred Gypsy, following her owner with her round, green eyes. “I’ll check him out for you. Let’s see if there is any presence of intelligent life in that pretty head of his.”
“Oh, brother,” muttered Damian under his breath, rolling his eyes at the cat.
“I heard that!” hissed Gypsy, her claws making an appearance.
Chapter 4
~ Damian Blake ~
As soon as River and her partner left, Sam turned to Damian, a crooked smirk on his face.
“Well, son,” he said, jerking his thumb at the plywood, “let’s get started then. L
et’s see if size and strength are directly proportional.” He opened his tool bag and produced a heavy-duty crescent nail puller, offering it to him.
Damian chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t need it.” He approached the plywood and found a nail that stuck out slightly. Wrapping his fingers around the head of the nail, he pulled it out easily. A few minutes later, most of the nails were out, lying on the floor in a tiny heap of metal.
“Whoa,” mumbled Sam, applying the nail puller to remove the last few. “You are as strong as you look.”
“Show off,” murmured Gypsy, rolling her green eyes.
“Shut up,” Damian grumbled at the cat, glowering down at her.
“What did you say?” asked Sam, throwing a curious glance at him.
It’s going to be a long day. Damian sighed. Carefully shifting the plywood down, he moved it to the side. “Nothing. Let’s see what we need to do.” He motioned at the long, dark hallway.
As soon as Damian took his first step, Gypsy sped forward with her bushy tail up, passing him to lead the way.
“Gypsy, shoo. Go back,” he hissed. “All I need is to hurt this stubborn cat while working.”
“You’re not the boss of me, peasant,” huffed the cat, trotting ahead of him. “As far as I know, you’re working for my mistress. So, down, boy. Roll over.”
Damian stilled for a brief moment, wondering if River would shoot him point-blank if he killed her favorite kitty, but then gritted his teeth and proceeded forward.
As they walked along the hallway, Damian noticed all the doors stood ajar, but as far as he could tell, everything was in flawless condition. The floors were perfectly polished, and even though everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, this part of the house seemed to be cleaner than the right wing. Even the family portraits were hung and aligned as if someone had inspected their position with a ruler. There wasn’t even a sign of incomplete construction.
Sam halted at the end of the hallway in front of a large double door. That was the only door that remained shut in the entire left wing.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “River said her late husband started the construction in the left wing of the house and never got a chance to finish it.” He shrugged, his eyebrows rising in confusion. “I don’t get it. Do you see anything out of order here?”
He put his hand on the handle, ready to push it down, when Gypsy hissed and arched her back, her tail tripling in size. A light wave of magical energy brushed Damian’s senses. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure the moment Sam touched that door handle, something had changed. In one motion, he grabbed Sam’s shoulders and yanked him back, stepping between him and the door.
“Procedia Amnia,” he shouted a protection spell, and the yellowish glow of his magic enveloped them.
“Damian, what’s going on?” yelled Sam, staring around wildly.
“Silence,” hissed Damian. Closing his eyes, he channeled the energy of Earth, increasing his sensitivity to the magical energy field.
“Open your eyes, Sasquatch!” squealed the cat, spitting and hissing at the locked door. “You’re a Child of Earth. Use your magical sight! Don’t you see what’s going on here?”
“No, I don’t see!” shouted Damian, throwing his hands up, desperation making his voice deeper. “Shut up, Gypsy, I need to focus.”
“Are you talking to the cat? Are you out of your fucking mind?” yelled Sam. His face, covered in cold perspiration, paled, and he punched the wall of the protective spell. “I need to get out of here.” He was taking short breaths, sweat running down his face, his eyes wide with uncontrollable fear. “Let me out! I need to be away from here!” Suddenly, he stopped talking, pressing his hand over his heart, his fingers locking and unlocking spasmodically.
“Sam!” Damian seized his shoulders and shook him once. “Look at me, Sam! Remember who you are! You are a hunter! Behave like one.” He let go of the older man’s shoulders, staring down at him heavily. “What you feel is a powerful turn-away spell. Nothing more!” He threw his hands up, slamming them down to his hips. “Fight it, goddammit! Fight it, so I can focus and figure out what’s going on.”
Ignoring the burning need to be as far from this place as possible, Damian channeled his elemental energy, carefully entwining it with his magic. He opened his eyes, glowing with the bright orange light of his power, but still couldn’t see anything that would explain the situation.
“Gypsy,” he said through gritted teeth, “please tell me what you see.”
The cat turned around and threw a furious glance at him. “You really don’t have the second sight?” she asked, swiping her tail angrily from side to side.
“No, I don’t,” he replied in a quick whisper. “Tell me what you see, or so help me—”
“He’s talking to the cat,” mumbled Sam, bewildered, wiping the sweat off his brow with a shaking hand.
“Runes and sigils,” hissed Gypsy, turning to face the door, fur standing along her back. “They are everywhere.”
“Latentius revelare,” Damian whispered the second spell and brushed his fingers over the surface of his protective shield. It shimmered slightly, revealing an entirely different picture to his eyes. Even through the prism of his spell his vision was blurry, but he could see a set of runes and sigils glowing with a soft white light written all over the door and the wall around it. Some of them he recognized right away, but some he had never seen before.
He wasn’t sure if it was his fight with the turn-away spell, or his use of magic, or maybe it was the realization of what these runes meant to do, but cold sweat dripped down his back, soaking his shirt through, and every muscle in his body tensed. He staggered a step back and froze. Quickly settling on a plan of action, he made the only decision possible in this situation.
“Sam,” he said as calmly as he could muster, “I need you to pull yourself together, man.”
The older man grunted and exhaled with a soft hiss, lowering his head for a brief moment. “Tell me what you need me to do, son,” he said quietly, but his voice was firm and strong again, even though his face was still strained.
“I need you to run,” said Damian, an expectation of trouble clawing at his heart. “As soon as I remove my protection spell, I need you to run back like you’ve never run before. Can you do it, old hunter?”
Sam nodded, swallowing hard.
“Remember, run and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you,” said Damian, his jaw clenched. “Ready?”
Sam nodded again.
“Incanto Comlium,” whispered Damian, removing his spell, and then shouted, “Run!”
In a heartbeat, an ear-splitting pandemonium unfolded around them. Amplified by the strange acoustics of the house, the terrible noise seemed to be coming from every direction at once. Bouncing off the ceiling, every screech, every hiss and howl seemed to be repeated infinitely, merging into a continuous ruckus. The air became darker than it had been before, rendering Damian’s vision useless.
He didn’t wait to find out what would happen next. Bending down, he grabbed the cat, pivoted on his heels and ran after Sam as fast as he could. The floor trembled with every step he took as the power of Earth responded to his emotional state.
As soon as he was out in the foyer, he waved his arm and shouted, “Procedia Amnia!” The yellow glow of his spell blocked the exit out of the hallway, and with horror, he saw a dark, shapeless mass slam into his shield. He heard Sam’s breathless gasp but ignored him.
Dropping the cat to the floor, he grabbed the piece of plywood and a handful of nails. Placing the plywood back over the threshold into the hallway, he held it in place with his shoulder and drove the nails in with the heel of his right hand, securing it back the way it was. Once done, he halted, breathing laboriously with his mouth open as he tried to catch his breath.
“Gypsy,” he panted, pointing at the blocked entrance into the hallway. “Tell me... Is there a rune that looks almost like an eye on
this piece of plywood?”
The cat stared at it intently and nodded. “Yes, there is one, and it’s huge and glowing. I’ve never noticed it before.”
“Oh, God damn it all!” he yelled, slamming his hand against the wall by the plywood, leaving a red splatter on its surface, and the entire house trembled.
Damian turned around. Pressing his back against the wall, he slid down to the floor and raised his aching hand closer to his face. Noticing that the heel of his palm was bleeding, he shook his head and chuckled bitterly, dropping his arm atop his bent leg. Gypsy approached him and rubbed her head against his side, purring.
“Hey, you, why aren’t you healing?” she asked, stretching up to give a nudge to his fingers. “Don’t you know? All Children of Earth have healing powers.”
“I can’t self-heal, Gypsy,” he said, exhaustion settling in his tense muscles. “I can’t heal others either. Only if I die, the energy of Earth takes over, healing or restoring my body. I’m immortal, but my existence is not pain-free.”
“You’re the worst Child of Earth I’ve ever met,” murmured Gypsy, settling in his lap. “But you’re okay, I guess... for a peasant, that is. I think I’ll let you pet me now...”
“You’re immortal,” echoed Sam. It wasn’t a question. He just stated the fact as if he were trying to talk himself into believing it. He stood by the foyer table, sweat still trickling down his pale face. “And you can talk to cats.”
Damian raised his eyes at him, and anger bubbled up in him, ready to spill. He swallowed, clenching his teeth as he fought to get it under control.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Sam?” he asked, his jaw set.
“I had no idea, Damian,” replied the old hunter quietly, squeezing the edge of the table with his hands until his knuckles turned white. “I swear on my daughter’s life, I had no idea there was something other than incomplete construction behind this door.”
